


The Importance of Honey

by Mari_Knickerbocker



Series: Scattered Facets Gathered into a Lifetime [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Supernatural, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort/Angst, Family Fluff, Gen, Mild Language, Not Beta Read, Supernatural s07e21-s08e18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Knickerbocker/pseuds/Mari_Knickerbocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar..."</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It's an old saying for a very good reason, there's some truth to it.</p><p>At some point, unbeknownst to her and entirely without her permission, Avery's little slice of paradise in the Adirondack mountains has become a sanctuary for everyone and everything she's ever met. She's not quite sure how to feel about this breech of her privacy, she can't make up her mind if she's pissed or flattered. She generally settles for acting put out by everything, just on principal. Her cantankerous response is all a lie, naturally. People like to feel needed and Avery's not immune to that. She'd very quickly go stir crazy with cabin fever if no one took the time to pop in and ask her for a little bit of advice. But still, one does have a certain reputation and besides, if she made it too easy on them they'd never bother to learn for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She heard the new arrivals long before she actually spotted them. A half whispered shifting of feathers and a murmur flickering of wings gave them away and that particular hush-hush fluttering murmur only belonged to (in her vast experience) actual honest to God angels of the goddamn Lord. She did not expect the angel to have a demon in his tow however..._

She heard the new arrivals long before she actually spotted them. She was down at the northeastern edge of the meadow tending to her vegetable garden judiciously removing some weeds that had the audacity to infringe on her orderly rows. She had only come down to harvest some fresh tomatoes for her sauce and gotten distracted by the aggressive infiltration. She then noticed that the old lily bed she’d planted decades ago and then conveniently 'forgotten' about had taken advantage of her distraction and started to run wild. It occurred to her that perhaps they had been allowed to run just a little too wild and a tad bit unchecked for far too long; hence, her current position bent over a shovel laboring away to split them up and restore order. Ororo had expressed an interest in taking some and re-planting them around the Mansion’s grounds the last time she’d visited. Which indecently provided Avery with all the inspiration required (more like forceful prodding) to tackle the overgrown vegetation. So she moved on from weeding to splitting lilies for transplantation, pleased in the knowledge that she was ultimately doing her friend a favor by doing one for herself, when the half whispered shifting of feathers and a murmured flickering of wings warned her of someone’s arrival.

The sound was not robust enough to belong to Warren nor was it mechanical enough in origin to be Sam – no that particular hush-hush fluttering murmur only belonged to (in her vast experience) actual honest to God angels of the goddamn Lord.

With a completely internal eye roll and a frustrated grunt on a particularly overzealous downward stroke of the shovel Avery continued her gardening. She was resolved to ignore whoever it was who felt it necessary to intrude upon her solitude. The simple shift of her grip upon the wooden handle of the shovel - so that it could become a more readymade weapon; just in case of emergencies you see, she believed in being prepared - was the only move she made to acknowledge the upcoming interruption. Part of her was curious – the feathered idjits hadn’t bothered to meddle directly in her affairs in a dog’s age and she wanted to know what suddenly encouraged them to risk her wrath (again) – the rest of her was just plan sick and tired of the whole stupid game. She couldn’t care less who had the bigger dick; all she wanted was to be left alone. Avery hoped that if she ignored whoever it was long enough they’d get bored and go looking elsewhere for the next meaningless pissing match. _A vain hope, but one can dream._

“Clarence,” a woman’s fondly exasperated voice twangs, “you want to tell me what the hell we are doing here?”

“For the honey Meg,” a familiar raspy baritone answers, “for the birds and the bees but most importantly the honey.”

 _Ach, hell no! Aire’ll be nae poaching i' ma honey laddie, nae today_ ; is her first and foremost thought at his statement. Never mind the fact that her hives usually produce more honey than she can reasonably use herself and she had already resorted to practically giving it away. It was the principal of the matter, you see. She couldn't allow someone to steal what she would gladly give away for free if they just thought to _**ask**_ her first. Avery wasn't a hard sell, in fact she was often too tenderhearted for her own good and often generous to a fault - if she did say so herself. Swinging the dirty shovel over her shoulder, paying no attention to the dirt sprinkling down the back of her plaid shirt, she stalks out of the half-shadowed corner of her garden bed towards the interlopers. Her face glowering (but more for effect than out of any actual aggravation; she wasn't above a bit of playacting now and then. In her long life she's learned you have to get your kicks where you could find them and she took a (somewhat) perverse joy out of scaring the piss out of others) darkly; if looks could kill then this one certainly would be capable of maiming any recipient.

“Ah, here comes the Mistress of the Bees now,” Castiel exclaims sounding far more chipper and upbeat than the last time she’d encountered him. Of course a lot of change can happen – for good or for bad – in the course of a year. (With an entirely internal sigh she notices that he's unaffected by her menacing grimace and quickly drops it in exchange for an expression of gruff inquiry).

“Milady,” Castiel addresses her grabbing her free hand and bowing over it to bestow a courtly kiss, “if it so pleases you may we partake in some of your delectable honey?”

One of Avery’s eye brows quirks upwards even as one corner of her mouth twitches suspiciously in amusement. She’s fairly certain that the young seraphim had not meant that as a euphemism, but his question paired with that earlier comment about the birds and the bees certainly sounded far less innocent than his intentions would have it be. Judging from the way his companion has nearly bitten through her lower lip in an effort to keep herself from laughing, then Avery's not the only one to have cotton on to the unintended double entendre.

Still holding her hand Castiel uses it to pull himself further into Avery’s personal space to murmur conspiratorially:

“I know that you and your fellow female felines were not consulted about the sharp barbs along the shaft of the male’s penis, I feel that I should apologize to you for this on behalf of my father.”

The other eyebrow slowly joins its fellow in trying to meld itself with her hair line. To her credit Avery does not laugh at him. Instead she leans in to murmur in an equally clandestine manner:

“Don’t feel too badly about it Castiel. I only sleep with human males; to avoid the barbs,” she reassures him throwing in a saucy wink for good measure.

"Ah, good, good!" Castiel congratulates her nodding his head in agreement; "A most excellent plan Bee Mistress, you are as clever as you are beautiful." The complement is unexpected and all the more appreciated for its spontaneous sincerity. Avery finds herself offering him a small genuine smile in return. 

“Thank you, Castiel," she murmurs not bothering to disguise the pleasure in her voice, "you flatter me, truly. But it isn't a strategy of any earth shattering importance," she demures with a seemingly shy duck of her head, "one's noticed that your father has a rather unique sense of humor, in fact you could say it’s an acquired taste.”

“Huh, you noticed that too have you,” the brunette pipes up her voice heavy with sarcastic amusement. It seems she was no longer content to be a silent bystander; “Celestial beings, I’m telling you, their idea of a good knee slapper could use a lot of work.”

Castiel’s blue eyes light up with boyish delight then as if he’s suddenly remembered something particularly funny that he wants to share.  
“Pull my finger,” he suggests eagerly offering Avery one digit to yank on.

Avery considers the waiting finger with slightly narrowed eyes then tilts her head back to regard the clear blue skies that can be glanced at between the leaves of the tree canopy. She purses her lips together in thoughtful contemplation for a moment.

“Nah, I think I’ll pass Castiel,” she tells him regretfully. “I need the good weather to last a while longer I’m afraid and you did want to harvest some honey didn’t you? Little difficult to do that if a sudden thunderstorm were to rock on up out of nowhere, the bees wouldn’t appreciate a torrential downpour.”

“Excellent point, Bee Mistress perhaps another time,” he suggests withdrawing his finger. Avery sagely nods her agreement to that suggestion. He turns towards the hives then back towards Avery with an entreating look, “May I?” 

She makes a sweeping gesture with her arm towards the hives meant to indicate that he should just help himself. Then trusting the angel to know what he’s doing – or at the very least has some magical mystical angel hoodoo to sooth the bees if he aggravates them – she walks away intending to resume her earlier gardening. _But even the best of intentions are easily lead astray._

“How did you know he’d call up a storm?” The girl asks falling into step with Avery as she re-crosses the meadow.

Avery gives the brunette an assessing side eye, she knows that particular brand of perfume and no amount of store bought concoctions are ever going to cover it up. She’s dying to know what an angel is doing paling around with a demon, particularly this angel, but this isn’t the first time she’s ever seen this happen and her curiosity can wait to be satisfied. There's nothing worse than a good mystery solved too soon.

“Last time I saw him do that he only blew out a light bulb,” she continues conversationally enough although obviously fishing for additional information. Avery pauses in her leisurely stroll to make a quarter turn and face the demon head on.

“Like I said it’s an acquired taste and your Clarence isn’t the first celestial being I’ve ever come across. In fact, this isn’t even the first time I’ve met him,” she informs the demon. “Although I must admit, this is an improvement over last time, believe it or not.”

“Why, what happened last time?”

“I tried to smite her, or is it smote? I’m not certain of the proper tense to use,” Castiel informs them suddenly appearing by their wrapped up in a swarm of idly buzzing bees, like his own personal cloud. It’s rather adorable actually. 

“Can’t see how that’s such a bad thing Clarence,” Meg teases him with a seductive purr, “why I’m just about a smitten kitten myself.”

A look of dumb founded horror crosses her face the second she realizes exactly what she said **and** that she said it out loud in front of witnesses. Avery turns away from them to hide her smirk; it just might be possible that she finds the demon’s reaction somewhat adorable as well.

“Why Meg, that was rather poetic of you,” Castiel compliments her. There just might be the barest hint of a blush staining her cheeks at that.

“Put up or shut up Clarence,” she shoots back vehemently. The trench coated angel’s only response is to beam back a goofy grin whilst the demon has resorted to glaring sultry daggers back at him.

Avery watches them for a moment then tilts her head back and laughs heartily with delight at their antics, a real deep belly laugh. She changes direction yet again and heads towards the back deck still laughing. By the time she sets aside her shovel and collects her basket of tomatoes she’s merely chortling. Then with a sigh and whipping at the corner of her eyes she calls out over her shoulder;

“When you two crazy kids have finished your little theological discussion come on into the house for some supper.”

**_~~~~***~~~~_ **

She’s manages to get herself cleaned up from her afternoon of toiling in the dirt and there's a decent pot of sauce going on the stove as well as all the other fixings for a hearty spaghetti dinner prepped before she sees either one of them again. And then it’s only Meg who comes sauntering into her kitchen.

“I take it that he’s not going to be joining us?”

“Nope,” the brunette replies deliberately popping the ‘p’. She draws a chair out from the table making sure to scrap it across the floor. Avery squashes a growl at the noise it makes and her back straightens in aggravation at the thought of the marks left on her floor. _I’ll have to teach that girl some manners it seems._ Demons, forever pushing buttons better left alone.

“Apparently he’s not done communing with the bees.”

“Ah, yes bees far more chatty than one would ever think,” Avery replies turning off the burners on her stove and turning about with a large bowl of mixed pasta and sauce to set on the table. Meg’s pulled out a chair and has propped her muddy boots right up on the corner of the kitchen table, kicking the chair back on two legs and balancing it. She gives the mutant a cheeky grin when she sees Avery’s expression. 

Narrowing her eyes at the uppity bit of hell spawn Avery calmly sets the dinner down then steps behind the girls pulled out chair. She grabs the back of it firmly.

“I know where you come from lass and I’ve known demons with better manners and class than what you’re displaying right now,” with that she yanks the chair back down onto all four legs. Meg jumps up surprised and Avery claps a hand on her shoulder then slams her back down into the chair. There's a ringing silence in the kitchen as Avery turns back to the sink to get a wet rag to wipe the table off with; she can feel Meg's wild-eyed gaze tracking her every move with renewed intensity.

“You’re not just some hillbilly with good honey are you?”

“Whatever gave you that bright idea doll?” Avery asks teasingly wiping the mud off her table then dishing herself a bowl. She offers an empty one to the demon who declines.

Meg reaches up to rub at her shoulder pointedly before answering; “I haven’t had anything grip me that hard in a long time, at least not anything that wasn’t more than human.”

“Huh, interesting theory,” Avery concedes between bites. “What I’m more interested in, however, is what’s a demon doing all buddy buddy with a seraphim? Correct me if I’m wrong here, but doesn’t your kind just general try to kill each other and call it quits.”

“You don’t miss much do you Goldie?”

“Nope.” It’s Avery’s turn to pop some ‘p’s and she relishes it.

“Well then riddle me this, why am I so stuck on him?”

“You, my charbroiled beauty, have gone and found yourself a mythical creature.”

“Yeah I know he’s a goddamn angel.”

“See that’s the problem with you demons, your thinking is far too literal for your own good.” Avery chides good naturedly then spying an opening (and not being one to pass by on a golden opportunity) follows it up with; “Free your mind and the rest will follow.”

“Seriously an En Vogue reference, you have got to be kidding me.” 

Avery shrugs unapologetically and continues to work her way through her dinner.

“Oh, and Meg,” she informs the demon sweetly between forkfuls of pasta, “you’ll be scrubbing those marks out of my floors or, as much as it’ll pain me to do so, I’ll be leaving similar marks in yon meat suit of yers. Chop, chop missy ye’ve got until I finish my meal.” 

Meg stares at her in utter disbelief and Avery can practically taste the demon’s shock at her audacity. Then after a tense moment throws her head back and laughs.

“I don’t doubt that you will, but you know he won’t like it. Clarence is a pacifist now.”

“Well la-tee-da for Castiel, I cannot even begin to describe to you the number of fucks I do not give right now girl. Fix the floor.”

There's silence for a beat or two as Meg considers that statement only to be shattered by; "What kind of mythical creature?"

"Fix the floor and I'll regale you with tales about all sorts of mythical creatures."


	2. Of Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You do understand he’s gone ‘round the bend,” Meg inquires._  
>  _“Has he now.”_  
>  _“Thoroughly, utterly, and completely.”_  
>   
> 
> Meg and Avery have a chance to talk things out while Castiel gets even more in tune with nature.

Let it never be said that Avery was an ungracious host. That being said there was a limit to her generosity and certainly to her patience and Meg seemed hell bent upon testing those limits. Unfortunately for Meg, Avery has had had centuries worth of practice dealing with spoiled brats and the various tricks they would employ in an effort to get their own way. If the demon thought the mutant was going to crack any time soon then she was betting on the wrong horse.

It took another two days before the chit final fixed Avery's hardwood floors in the kitchen although she was careful enough not to create any new or additional marks there or elsewhere in the cabin. Avery would have been within her rights (as far as she was concerned) to deny the girl shelter and provisioning but she'd grown up during the age of chivalry and believed whole-heartedly in good manners. Therefore, instead of throwing the little hell spawn painfully out on her forked tail feathers she offered the girl a room to stay in; one with two double beds for her and the angel to share.

“You do realize that angels and demons don’t need to sleep don’t you?”

“Oh, I do but one must keep up appearances dearie.”

Avery’s not sure if the two of them have ever used the beds or even the room itself, hell she’s not even certain if Cas has bothered to even step inside once the entire time he’s been here. All of his considerable concentration has been taken up by the beehives and their busily buzzing occupants. She’s found that the entertainment of watching the angel conducting himself amongst the bees has more than made up for the intolerable arrogance of the young she-devil. In fact Avery has easily fallen into the pattern of devoting her afternoons to observing his antics.

She’s lounging on the back deck, a book she’s half paying attention too propped open in her lap and a half drunk cold bottle of beer is on the table by her elbow, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing aloud. Footsteps behind her announced the arrival of someone else.

“You do understand he’s gone ‘round the bend,” Meg inquires coming up to perch on the railing, crossing her legs at the ankles and letting them swing devil may care.

She’s not even looking at the tawny haired woman but over her shoulder towards the meadow and the angel. Castiel is currently frolicking in the long luscious green grass sans clothing. It’s really quite the sight to behold. _Angels, it’d be a hell of lot easier to steer away from temptation if they didn’t insist on picking such adorably delicious vessels._ She cannot help but think with pursed lips, eyes tracking his progress with an appreciative gleam.

With a shake of her head Avery shifts her attention and favors the demon with a speculative side eye. Attempting to discern if Meg's focus on the frolicking angel was the rapt fascination of someone witnessing a train wreck or the lustful fixation of a potential lover. It’s almost too close of a call to make, since lust and morbid curiosity are pretty much one and the same when it comes to demons.

“Has he now,” she asked rhetorically when it became clear that the quality of Meg’s silence indicated that she was waiting for her to make some kind of response.

“Thoroughly, utterly, and completely,” is the returning quip. “Just so you’re aware until he brought us here, we were holed up in some looney bin where he’d been laying in a self-induced coma. Then he wakes up, I jokingly call him the naked guy at the rave, some shit goes down, we come here and now he really _is_ the naked guy at the rave.”

Avery grunted noncommittally in reply. That vague notion of a response appeared to be the only encouragement Meg needed.

“And why would he be playing Sleeping Beauty in the nut house you ask,” she drags out the rhetorical question theatrically trying to extract the most drama from the moment she could mime from it. “Well, you guessed it – the goddamn _Winchesters_.” She spits out their name as if it’s the worst expletive she’s ever uttered.

“Or perhaps he just wanted a little R&R, nothing wrong with that.”

Meg takes a moment to look Avery directly in the eye and give her a petulant eye-roll with a side of extra spicy attitude. Avery merely raises an eyebrow in return. The demon huffs then spares another moment for a full mouth pout.

“If only that was the reason,” she replies with a sigh. “I just don’t get it, what’s the fucking appeal there? Sure they’re cute, I’ll give you that. Actually in a rare moment of honesty I will admit they’re down right tasty; but that’s not a good enough reason to roll over and do whatever they ask of him.”

“Did they specifically ask Castiel to go all coo coo for cocoa puffs?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” The girl hedges looking away from Avery and back out towards where they last saw the angel. He’s no longer there.

“Where’d he go?” Meg demands sharply close to panicking, although she does her best to cover it. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. He’s probably off just answering somebody’s prayer.”

“You can honestly just sit there telling me not to worry, that he’ll come back? He’s off answering somebody’s prayer naked and playing with half a deck of cards! Are you sure you’re human; correct me if I’m wrong here, but shouldn’t you be just a tad bit more concerned? Clarence is a wanted man out there in the big bad world; this, this is apocalyptic level bad! I told those sons of bitches I'd look after him.”

“Whose hide are you worried about here, Meg? Castiel’s or your own?”

Avery does not even blink as the demon leaps off the railing slamming into her chair and bringing an angel blade up against her throat. In fact, the only thing she does is tilt her head back a litter farther to give Meg better access to her jugular. It is that action of willing submission that causes the demon to pause and then pull back. Avery only offers a smug smirk in return.

“I’m worried about Clarence,” she finally mutters reaching back and to the left to grab herself a chair.

“Well who other than us and the Winchester’s know he’s still around and kicking?”

“That’s not the point woman,” she objects waving her arms about wildly.

“Then why don’t you get to the point Meg,” Avery suggests taking a swig of her beer.

“Do you even know what’s going on out there beyond your woods?”

“I have a fairly good idea of the broad strokes, why don’t you fill in the finer details for me.”

Meg does that telling her all about the hunt for purgatory and the battle over souls, the momentary team up between Crowley and Castiel. Then poor Clarence’s ill-advised, impulsive bid for godhood and the resulting devastation it caused. Which ultimately resulted in the release of the Leviathans upon the (miraculously still) unsuspecting human population and Castiel’s death; that is until Dean found him alive living as a faith healer in Colorado.

“Then he had to go dragging Clarence back to the hospital to heal baby bro because Paul Bunyan couldn’t handle a couple of little hallucinations and was having some sort of ‘full-blown psychotic episode’,” she throws up exaggerated finger quotes shrugging dismissively before continuing, “Which is my idea of a good start to the weekend, but to each their own.”

“Didn’t you want Castiel to remember who he was?” Avery asked shrewdly. Meg might not have come right out and mentioned the angel’s amnesia but Avery was more than capable of reading between the lines. (That and she knew the kid’s daddy).

“Well, yeah. But I didn’t want him to go all noble and hitch a ride on the crazy train express.”

Avery simply regarded the demon with a bland expression and a raised eyebrow. In return Meg’s face flushed hotly and she looked equal parts, embarrassed, flustered, and aggravated.

“That’s it I’m done,” she finally declared standing up swiftly and pointing an accusatory finger in Avery’s face. “Talking to you is like having a conscious and I ditched that old ball and chain back when I lost my humanity. You’re not about to make a real girl out of me Jimmy Cricket, I’m over it.” With that she vanished into thin air.

“Don’t let the door hit you the way out dearie,” Avery called out after the retreating demon, her voice rich with amusement.

Enjoying the momentarily relief of having her home back to herself, Avery shifted into a more comfortable positon and returned her attention to her interrupted reading. She’d woken up that morning and decided to re-read Dante’s _Divine Comedy_ for the umpteenth time. Avery’s not exactly sure what prompted that particular decision, but she’s willing to bet having both an angel and a demon in residence for the last few days might have something to do with it.

The afternoon is waning and she’s managed to work her way through _Inferno_ and half way through the _Purgatorio_ her enjoyment of the text declining as she remembers how much she didn’t care for this particular translation. She hadn’t considered that when she picked it up off the shelf earlier, she’d simply grabbed the first copy of the text she had seen. _I would have been better off reading it in the original Italian_ ; she could not help but think as she cringed over yet another unnecessarily wordy translation of a rather simple canto. _Next time I’m purging my library this will have to go._ Curious as to why she hadn’t donated the thing yet she turned it about in her hands looking for either a copyright or trademark; _ah, yes 16th century that would be why_. She made a mental note to get in touch with either an antiquities dealer, a museum, or a university library specializing in old manuscripts to sell or donate it to.

Needless to say, when the next interruption came Avery welcomed it. Reading about hell and purgatory only holds a finite amount of enjoyment; reading about it with a bad translation just sucks what little enjoyment there was right out of the activity.

A shadow falls over her and she looks up to find the angel watching her. He’s managed to put on boxers and his trench coat, which she appreciates. As much as she enjoyed ogling him from afar she’d rather not be eye to eye with any of his dangly bits at the moment. Tilting her head back and shading her eyes with one hand, she makes a quick scrutiny of his face to see if she can discover what prompted him to actually approach the cabin. So far if she’s wanted to actually speak with Castiel she’s had to go out to her own beehives for the pleasure – he’s boycotted any concrete signs of actual civilization.

“Why hello Cas, where’d you go running off too?”

“Dean Winchester called out to me; I answered his prayer.”

“Takes some bees along for the ride did ya,” she asks noticing a few flying a bit dazed and confused like about his head.

“I... yes unintentionally. I have returned them.”

“Thank you.” She half expected him to leave after that but instead he hovered even closer to her; which was a feat, since he was already practically sitting in her lap.

“You seem a little on edge Castiel, what’s eating at you?”

“Nothing, I am not being gnawed on.”

“I mean, what is bothering you,” she explained gently her voice steady and patient as it would be if she were speaking to a precocious child. One who had made a very large intuitive leap that ended up with him putting his foot in his mouth and forgetting that sometimes stopping at go and collecting your two hundred dollars was very much a necessary step in life. 

“Dean Winchester wants me to help him get Dick.”

It was the ultimate testimony to the strength of her will power and self-control that she did not laugh at that sentence.

“He wants my help in beating Dick. He wants to beat Dick into submission; until Dick explodes and he says he cannot do it without my help.”

Believe it or not Avery managed not to laugh at that either; she just might have cracked a rib or two from holding back her laughter but she never once cracked a smile or gave the angel any indication of how amusing she found his explanation of his predicament. 

“Well howdy Clarence! I had no idea the gate swung both ways,” Meg announced her reappearance slapping her knee for emphasis even as she plopped down in the chair she had abandoned earlier.

“What gate?” Castiel asked at the same time Meg explained that:

“Dick is the head honcho of the Leviathans.” 

“I kind of figured that one out, thanks.” Avery told the demon smiling a bit at the surly pout that briefly crossed the girl’s face. Tormenting demons was almost (if not more) as fun as tormenting nosy law enforcement officers; as far as Avery was concerned.

“Cas you need to decide what is right for you and do it,” she advised the angel getting up from her chair. “Take all the time you need to think things over; you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. You both are,” she made sure to catch Meg’s eye as she said that.

“You’re leaving,” Cas announces staring directly into Avery’s golden eyes and she can’t decide if that’s accusation, betrayal, or resignation swimming around in his blue orbs. He reminds her of a lost baby chick that’s imprinted itself upon the first adult animal it came across. It’s with that in mind that she reaches out to pat his cheek fondly.

“I did promise my friend some day lilies, boyo and she hasn’t come by to get then yet so that means I’d best be making a trip down state to her. I’ll only be gone a day or two at most then I’ll be back.”

“Are you really that stupid as to trust us alone up here with your shit?” The girl asks. Reading between the lines of her belligerence and sarcasm, Avery’s a little surprised to see concern for her safety. Apparently the angel wasn’t the only one who went and imprinted on her; _I really need to stop collecting lost souls_.

Instead of giving the girl a verbal reply and possibly revealing how touched she was by Meg’s unvoiced concern, Avery shrugged nonchalantly in response. Turning back to Castiel she reassured him;

“Just a few days then I’m back. If you’re both still here when I get back, fantastic, if not you’re welcome to drop in anytime.”

She goes to leave then but is stopped by one last question.

“What of the Leviathans?” Meg calls out to her, “Aren’t you worried about running into any of them?”

“Sweetheart,” she replies over her shoulder, smirking and allowing one canine to elongate into a wickedly curved and gleaming fang; “they should be worried about running into me.”

……

Meg waits until the sound of a car engine has died out completely before rounding on Castiel and glaring at him. He merely stares curiously back at her. Meg finds herself puffing her cheeks out then letting go one long explosive breathe.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ-on-a-red-hot-pogo-stick,” she rattles off in the next breathe running her fingers through her hair, “you certainly know how to pick ‘em don’t ya Clarence.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” He responds sounding the most rational that he has since waking up.

“What do you know about that woman? Did you see that fang? Holy shit what kind of monster is she?”

“I don’t think she’s a monster, and I know she cannot die. Or at least silver bullets don’t kill her.”

Meg’s staring at him slack jawed but he doesn’t notice his attention is taken up by a butterfly that has alighted on a nearby potted geranium.

“Boy you sure have some _interesting_ friends Clarence.” 

“Is she my friend?” The angel asks eyebrows pulling together quizzically “Are you my friend?”

“Yeah, Castiel I think so.” The demon replies but she doesn’t bother to clarify which question it is she’s answering. He doesn't bother to ask for clarification either, he just smiles at her with that goofy knowing grin of his.


	3. A Dash of Vinegar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Mistress of the Bees,” he greets her after suddenly appearing in her kitchen. Avery, to her credit, does not startle hell she doesn’t even filch or give any other indication that she’s surprised to find an angel of the Lord gate crashing her breakfast._  
>  _“What can I do ya for Cas?” She asked continuing to nosh on her bagel and eggs. As if it was just another Wednesday morning._
> 
> **_~~~~***~~~~_ **
> 
> Eighteen Months after she last hosted the Angel Castiel he finds his way back to her cabin. Apparently, the more things change the more they just stay the same. Avery would say something crude like it was nothing more than a compelling case of deja vu but she realized exactly how **not** funny it all was.

“Mistress of the Bees,” he greets her after suddenly appearing in her kitchen. Avery, to her credit, does not startle hell she doesn’t even filch or give any other indication that she’s surprised to find an angel of the Lord gate crashing her breakfast.

“You do realize that I am not actually their mistress,” she inquires politely, lazily, taking another bite out of her cream cheese slathered bagel.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed a tad sharply as if he found her pleasantly polite manner inconvenient. “But you have never told me your name and it would be rude of me to just address you as ‘you’ all the time.”

“I suppose you’re right Castiel,” she agrees mildly offering him a plate of fruit. He declines it with a sharp shake of his head.

“Do you know what else would be rude?” She asked thoughtfully and again he shakes his head, brows pulling together in puzzlement. “Smiting someone, anyone, in my kitchen; it causes such a dreadful mess and I don’t feel like dealing with that particular headache today. So let’s agree to make this a smiting free zone – all parties get a free pass here – do I make myself clear young man?” She finishes her voice taking on the edge of a mother laying down the law.

“Yes ma’am,” Castiel agrees readily. (Avery has yet to find a man, alien, or creature that could resist her ‘mom’ voice when she chose to employ it at full capacity– it did not surprise her to learn that celestial beings were not exempt). She nods and smiles approvingly at the angel of Thursdays. 

“What can I do ya for Cas?” She asked continuing to nosh on her bagel and eggs as if she hadn’t just delivered a veiled threat to go all Mother Dearest on his ass if he dares to step a single toe out of line.

“I need a place to hide out for a while,” he supplies with a shift look around the sunny room as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. “You have some extremely impressive warding around your property, I noticed last time I was here, it-I would be safe. For a while at least until they break in.”

“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” she quips popping a grape into her mouth. “Well listen up here Sunshine, nothing enters my territory unless **_I_** allow it.”

“I did,” he points out to her a little smug about it. There’s a flash of that old pride that’s gotten him into trouble more than once before. She picks up a piece of bacon and chews rather methodically on it for a moment mulling over that one statement.

“Now for someone with ‘extremely impressive wording’,” she quote’s himself back at him, “then why would I be so careless as to make that _one_ crucial mistake which would allow some silly little seraphim to slip through. Unless, that is _exactly_ what I wanted him to think I had done.”

Avery watches his expression carefully from under her eyelashes and the fall of her tawny hair with an almost clinical detachment as it shifts from smug pride to childish befuddlement.

“You know,” she continues casually just to drive the point home, “if you were still solidly on the current Heaven agenda bandwagon you would have **never** gotten pass my wards.”

“So any fallen angel,” he began and she cut him off with a silent shake of her head.

“No, only you Castiel.”

“Why me?” He asks looking even more perplexed than what was standard issue for the trench coated angel. Avery gives him a piercing assessing once over before sighing sympathetically her golden hued gaze softening towards him.

“The home office really did a number on you this time, didn’t they? Those assclowns better stop hitting the reset button so damn hard, it’s going to get stuck one of these days.”

“I think it did.”

She rakes him over with another fiercely assessing glance managing to see just about everything and anything there is to see.

“Yes, I rather think you’re right,” she concludes pushing her now empty plate away from her and standing up. “So you need a hidey hole and you’ve come to me – who you just barely remember and hardly knew to begin with – which begs the question Castiel; why not the Winchesters?” 

His eyes tracks her as she cleans up her dishes and sets out fresh ones, and if she notices that the expression in those baby blues is a little helpless and a lot hopeless she’s kind enough not to mention it. He’s not quite sure how to answer that question; he’s only just acquired the angel tablet and escaped Naomi’s hold on him, to say that Castiel is still just a little bit confused would be an understatement. Its more accurate to claim that he’s going through a midlife crisis. Particularly when you add in the fact that he almost killed Dean (and has been training to do so for God only knows how long – the concept of time in heaven is sketchy at best) and Meg _died_ in order to buy them time to keep the tablet away from Crowley (he’s in a bit of a crisis over his conflicting morals and feelings for the demon (as well as for Dean, let’s be honest) which really he’s been flustered by those sense purgatory). It’s really just all too much for one baby seraphim in a trench coat to process let alone answer some stranger’s questions about it. And that’s another thing; he doesn’t really know this woman, has only met her three times in his life (that he can recall and he’s willing to admit there are some big gaping holes in his memory) but something about her tells him to trust her explicitly – with everything.

It was all of it very much, **extremely** , confusing and he just did not _understand_.

Castile did not care for what he was currently feeling – a shit ton of guilt and shame along with the confusion – which would explain his overreaction when the silence is broken by a hitherto unknown third party. There was a sudden ‘bampf’-ing sound and a faint cloud of bluish-gray smoke accompanied with the smell of brimstone and sulfur that causes the angel to jump about a foot into the air. The Bee Mistress has her back to the sudden danger futzing about with something on the kitchen counter behind him and he’s aware of the need to protect her.

When the smoke clears to reveal a young man covered in blue fur with pointe ears and jack-o-lantern yellow eyes, not to mention a shy smile full of sharp pointed teeth, that desire to protect the Bee Mistress only intensifies. The creature sits calmly in one of the kitchen chairs and waves a hesitant hello to the angel showing off his three finger hand whilst the pointed prehensile tail twitches uneasily.

Without thinking much beyond the need to protect the woman Cas reaches for his angel blade. Really he’s just reaction on instinct here, nothing more than the factory default settings; see a demon, smite the demon. Before he’d done more than drawn the weapon half from its sheath his wrist is captured in a firm ironclad grip. Castiel tries to twist then yank his arm free form the woman’s hold, but to no avail. It occurs to him that if he truly wants to escape the bruising force of those iron fingers then he would either have to break her fingers, break his wrist or chew off his own hand.

The soothing hand she placed on his shoulder was startling in its sharp contrast to the unyielding clasp around his wrist.

“Easy now luv,” she speaks in a lower soothing tone as one would to a spooked Thoroughbred. “Easy does it, let’s put yon fool thing away now. This is a smiting free zone now remember? Kurt’s no more a spawn of hell than you or I; in fact ye’d be hard pressed to find a more devout man given present company. Ye’d know that Castiel, if ye’d been using the wits yer father gave ye.”

“So it’s true,” Kurt spoke up in awe, “he is an Angel of zee Lord. I have nefer met an Angel before. I nefer sought myself vorthy of such an honor, alzough I hafe prayed to zem all my life.”

“It wears thin after a while,” she informs the blue furred man speaking casually over her shoulder, her golden regard trained on Cas flickering back and forth over his face searching for something.

“Surely not Ave,” the German man scoffs. Castiel’s eyes lock onto hers at that hint of a name, attempting to discover the truth of it in the depths of her honey gold eyes.  
“Just because sie are so bored vith everysing,” he continues implying that the woman had no tolerance for anything.

“Trust me Kurt, whoever it was you were praying to is nothing more than a pompous feathered dick, at best, and you really don’t want to know what they’re like at their worst.”

Kurt’s expression is scandalized in fact he looks very much like a child whose been told that Christmas was canceled this year on Christmas morning. Castiel immediately feels moved to reassure him that what this Ave says is not true, but he is uncomfortable with lying. Surely not the entire heavenly host was composed of feathered dicks – Samandriel could not have been a dick, there had never been a dick bone in the boy’s body and Castiel had killed him; which in this instance defiantly made Castiel the dick. _Oh Father, what have I done, what has become of me?!?!?!?_

The thought strikes Cas very much like a bolt of lightning and it occurs to him that although he’s done penance in purgatory he hasn’t been very successful when it comes to the whole not repeating his transgressions end of the bargain. Feeling utterly lost and extremely vulnerable in the wake of these revelations, Cas lets go of the angel blade (he’d very much forgotten that he was still holding onto it) and the woman’s grip on his wrist loosens in its intensity. She does not, however, release him entirely. Now both points of contact were comforting, reassuring in their weight and warmth upon his shoulder and wrist – what Cas imagines a mother’s touch would be like.

“Kurt, since you’ve so thoroughly broken the ice why don’t you go ahead and collect the rest of the lazy bums for their morning meal,” the woman suggests still keeping her attention on Castiel.

“All of zem Afery?” He inquires his accent growing even thicker in his uncertainty. 

“All of them,” she repeats sounding both surprised and exasperated by his question. She closes her eyes briefly then lifts her chin off to the side and sniffs at the air like a dog scenting the wind. Her eyes snap open at whatever she discovered and a fondly annoyed growl reverberates in her throat even as she offers Cas a brief smile.

“Aye get ‘em aa, drag the lazy bastards oot I’ bed if ye hiv tae laddie. I’m nae running a fecken’ B&B here fur their convenience.”

With another sulfuric ‘bampf’ and a ghostly chuckle Kurt left the kitchen to carry out her orders.

Cas may or may not have (totally did) jump at the blue man’s sudden exit. Avery must have felt seen him jolt. She totally had to have felt it, for she still had her hand on his shoulder and the other on his fore arm but if she did she made no comment. Instead, she moved behind him and gently propelled him toward the table and a waiting chair with both hands on his shoulders. With just the slightest bit of pressure she guided him into the waiting chair and once he was seated she reached over him to fix a plate of fruit.

“I ken that strictly sppikkin ye don’t require food,” she remarks conversationally still in that same Scottish dialect she’d used to give Kurt his marching orders. Although her tone was mild there was an edge to her voice that indicated she would not be contradicted; “Bit that don’t mean ye cannot enjoy some. Sae hiv yersel a plate i' lovely fruit an explain tae me fit wye ye thocht it best tae come tae a relative stranger fur help instead i' yer freens.” 

She sits down in a chair next to him and props her elbow up on the table resting her chin in her hand and eye-balling him expectantly. Hesitantly Castiel reaches out and pulls a grape off of its steam then pops it into his mouth. He chews for a moment then swallows before looking to her for reassurance. Avery beams her approval at him with a bright, warm, smile.

“I am no longer confident that I may call the Winchesters my friends,” Cas admits, “and since I now find myself friendless you were the next best option Avery.” He tries out the name and when she only nods at him to continue he can positively conclude that it is indeed her name. “I thought to appeal to your natural sympathies and convince you to provide me with sanctuary. At least for the time being, nothing permanent,” he’s quick to reassure her. 

“Appeal to her natural sympathies, looks like you’re shit out of luck there bub this one don’t have any sympathies natural or otherwise.” A gruff voice comments dryly form the direction of the doorway. 

Once again Castiel is taken by surprise and he reaches for his angel blade but a slight quirking of one of Avery’s eyebrows has him rethinking that action. He looks to the kitchen’s threshold to find a man just as rough around the edges as his voice implied he would be; a well-muscled, six foot tall, cantankerous looking fellow wearing nothing more than a white wife-beater and a well lived in pair of jeans along with some worn biker boots.

As Cas studies the newcomer he moves into the room properly. Right away the angel notices how he moves with a sense of purpose and there’s an aura of danger about him – an enthralling combination of competence and barely checked raw brutality that immediately reminds Castiel of the Winchester boys. In fact this man could very easily be a carbon copy of Dean. (Castiel had the feeling that Dean would be the more civilized one of the pair).

Stricken by the comparison, Castiel freezes like a deer in headlights whilst simultaneously trying to keep a surreptitious eye on the gruff man. (He failed; the angel wasn’t very good at subtle, just like he sometimes lacked tact, and both mutants had this frustrating habit of being highly observant – like basically _always_ ). Castiel tracks the man’s progress as he stalks into the room then behind where the angel is sitting – making his features (and feathers) ruffle in unease at being unable to see the man – to Avery.

“Not a sympathetic bone in her body,” he continues sliding up to Avery and giving her arm an affectionate squeeze, “I should know bub; I’ve personally done a survey.”

He finishes that with a low chuckle leaning down to nose at the top of her head then places a kiss in her hair. Avery leans into his partial embrace for a moment, her eyes dancing with merriment and affection, before pulling away and pushing at him playfully.

“Bugger off ye great loon,” she scolds with a chuckle of her own and no actual heat to her words. The man chuckles again before turning away to fix himself a cup of coffee.

“So this is the fledgling,” he remarks over the rim of his mug.

“Aye,” she answers, “and he was just about to tell me why he thinks himself friendless before some _one_ had to make an entrance.” 

The man shrugs in reply and Avery snorts before turning back to Castiel. The angel takes a bracing breath then squares his shoulders before just confessing;

“I tried to kill Dean.”

“And this makes you friendless, how?”

Castiel stares at Avery incredulously, in fact very much struck dumb by her question. He could not believe the woman had just asked him what she had asked him. She had never come across as unintelligent to him before, in fact, she often appeared to have wisdom well beyond her thirty-three years. Apparently this time he would have to spell things out for her.

“I tried to kill Dean,” Castiel repeated being careful to annunciate each word clearly. “I very nearly did kill him, and would have,” he pauses there uncertain how to proceed without divulging the secret of the angel tablet.

“But you stopped yourself,” the man prompts.

“Yes I stopped myself and healed the wounds I had inflected before leaving. I have betrayed his trust and his faith in me yet again… It is inexcusable and unforgivable. That is why I no longer have friends; I do not deserve to have them.”

There it is the unvarnished truth of the matter. Castile does not deserve friendship; he does not deserve friends, for all he’s ever done is taken that precious bond and tarnish it beyond recognition. It surprises the angel the sudden flood of emotion he feels at that confession. The release itself alone is staggering. He’s marveling at that feeling when the silence in the room is shattered by a low whistle.

Startling again (but not so badly that he draws the angel blade, in fact this time he does not even make a move to reach for it) Castiel whips his head around – giving himself whiplash for his troubles – to find yet another man waltzing into the kitchen. This one is blonde and wearing black workout pants slung low on his hips and a gray tank showing off well-muscled arms. He, just like the unnamed lumberjack, exudes an air of potential violence and moves with the same economy of motion that screams experienced warrior.

“My man if you’re right about that then I’ve defiantly bought myself a one way ticket to the hothouse years ago,” the blonde announces bringing a scarred hand up to rub sheepishly at the back of his head ruffling his hair. His manner suggests that he was ashamed or embarrassed by that admittance but the unrepentant grin that split his face told an entirely different story.

“Seriously how is it that you people still manage to put up with me? Are you just that tolerant or have you become completely immune to my charms? And if that’s the case can we really call what we have friendship?”

“Honestly, you’re more of a parasite than a friend,” the other man growls affectionately taking another sip of his coffee.

“Ouch Wolvie,” the blonde teases theatrically clapping a hand over his heart, “I’m absolutely shattered you would think that.” Despite his words he doesn’t sound hurt in the least, “I thought we shared something special.”

At this point he’s reached the large oaken kitchen table and has pulled out a chair then twirled it around to straddle it backwards crossing his arms along the top of the back of the chair. 

“Out of curiosity what kind of parasite?” He asks tilting his head questioningly to one side.

“A tapeworm,” Wolvie (Cas doubts that that is the man’s real name; it seems too cuddly for a man as rough around the edges as him) snaps back without missing a beat. There is an ease to their banter that speaks of long familiarity and reminds Castiel of the brothers.

“Aww shucks Wolvie you certainly know now to make a gal’s heart go all pitter-patter,” the tapeworm man retorts batting his long eyelashes coquettishly over his puppy brown eyes. Castiel frowns severely at that remembering the case he worked with the brothers where the psychokinetic Fred Jones caused cartoon gags – like one’s heart jumping out of one’s chest when in love – to actually happen.

“You should be careful of that,” he warns him helpfully. The blonde shoots him a raised eyebrow and a speculative side-eye.

“I’ll be sure to do so,” he reassures the angel.

“I take it from your remarks that you have also tried to kill your friends,” Castiel presses attempting to get back to the original topic of conversation with his usual directness. 

“Tried? More like succeeded,” comes the immediate unabashed answer, “the counts in the high double digits by now isn’t it? How many times have I helped you to shed this mortal coil sweet cheeks?” The last is directed towards Avery with a flirtatious wink. At some point the woman (without Cas noticing) had gotten up to fix the blonde a plate of eggs.

“A fair few,” she admits handing him the plate her voice warm with amusement.

“What about you Wolvie? How many times have I’ve given you a friendly little poke with my katanas?” He asks around a mouthful of bacon and eggs wagging his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner that’s obviously meant to be seductive but was simply ludicrous. 

“Not as often as I’ve skewered you.”

At that the blonde man goes slacked-jawed and bits of food he hasn’t managed to swallow yet actually dribble down his chin and back onto his plate. His pupils are slightly blown and he swallows once or twice before managing to speak again.

“Way to give a fellow some ideas,” he congratulates ‘Wolvie’ his voice a shade huskier than it was before.

“Settle down boys,” Avery cautions them, “you’re shocking our guest.”

Castiel is not shocked so much as confused. He’s actually having a hard time determining if this is just more of their usual banter or if something else has transpired. That and the implication that they’ve each ‘died’ more than once does nothing to help alleviate his confusion. He’s about two seconds away from asking for clarification when an unexpected cacophony of sound rumbles through the house. He looks to Avery to see if he should be worried by the commotion. She seems completely unperturbed by the sudden rush of noise throughout the cabin, in fact she’s actually smiling at it and her eyes are dancing with unvoiced laughter. He’s got the sense that whatever was coming means the world to the woman.

He has the sudden irrational thought that he should leave before he ruins this for her too. As if she's read his mind Avery comes to stand beside him once again clapping a firm hand upon his shoulder and anchoring him to his chair. She looks down at him and smiles an expression in her golden eyes that seems to say; _whatever is coming we'll face it together_.

“Not to worry my fine feathered friend, no one will bite unless you want them too,” the blonde man reassures him with a saucy wink. 

He’s just finished that not very reassuring attempt at reassurance when there’s yet another poof of smoke and Kurt reappears at the kitchen table. Avery’s already handing him a plate piled high with various breakfast foods and from somewhere has produced a large chocolate chip muffin. Castiel has not seen any muffins on offer amongst the spread already on the table and would suspect she conquered it via magic, if he honestly thought her capable of magic. She turns to him and winks. Cas blinks and wonders if she read his mind. He does not have much time to pursue that new train of speculation before the kitchen in is invaded by a gaggle of drowsy and irritably grousing people.

“I was awake Ave, no need for the wakeup call.” A middle aged man who looked slightly out of place in his sweatpants and Captain America t-shirt; Castiel gets the impression that this man is underdressed without a suit on.

His is the first complaint to be registered, the next follows quickly on its heels.

“Ah cannot believe you told him to do that!” A young woman with a southern accent and white streaks in her brunette hair stops over to the table and takes a chair next to Kurt. Unrepentant Kurt smiles pertly at her then reaches over to ruffle her hair. She shoves his hand away but smiles affectionately at him anyways.

A regal looking African American woman with white hair enters the kitchen and merely favors Avery with a single disapproving glance to register her complaint. It’s an elegant protest one that Avery acknowledges with a small nod. Behind her walk in two more brunettes one who plops down next to the older man and steals toast off of his plate with a mumbled; “Thanks AC.”

While the other young brunette stalks over to where Wolvie is still leaning against the counter guarding the coffee pot. There’s something about her scowling expression that is very reminiscent of the older man and when she draws alongside him she doesn’t hesitate to punch him in the bicep and shove him out of her way. He moves with the motion of her shove easily although Castiel guesses that it’s a conscious choice on his part.

“Good morning to you too sweetheart,” he greets her and she growls viciously at the pet name. Instead of getting upset he only smiles mischievously over the rim of his coffee mug at Avery.

The next person to enter the kitchen doesn’t come through the door way but instead walks directly through the timber wall combing tangles out of her hair with her fingers.

“God Kurt, you are like so unbelievably rude! I can’t believe Avery actually told you to like jump on me and stuff until I woke up.”

“But she did Kitty,” Kurt objected defending himself, “I vas doing vat I vas told to do.”

Kitty rounded on Avery who merely shrugged her shoulders; “He might have taken his own initiative but basically yes.”

“You are the worst!”

“Love you too Kitty-cat.”

“You do not play fair, _chère_ ,” a man with a Cajun accent announced entering both the argument and the kitchen at the same time.

“Ah, and here’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Avery retorted chuckling. Under cover of the conversation a young man with curly hair slips into the room and sits down on the other side of the man with the Captain America t-shirt.

Soon enough everyone has a plate and they are all eating and chatting at each other and Castiel is hard pressed to follow what’s going on and who’s talking to who about what. The one thing he does pick up on is the shared affection they all have for each other – it’s an extremely strong bond and reminds him of his brothers and sisters in heaven before the archangels sent that house of cards crashing down. There’s a touch at his elbow and he turns to find Avery kneeling by his chair.

“I don’t think you were done talking with me Cas; so let’s blow this popsicle stand and let the peanut gallery talk amongst themselves while we take a walk outside. You could check up on the bees again,” she finishes with an entreating smile and a half nod in the direction of the doorway.

“Yes, yes that would be nice.” He agrees getting up and following her out into the meadow leaving the comforting sounds of a family meal behind him.


	4. A Dollop of Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Why are you so dead set on thinking you no longer have any friends, Castiel?" She queries softly. She doesn't bother to turn and look at him, just continues to walk silently down the forest path her arms clasped behind her back, shoulders relaxed. Out here in the forest, amongst the bracken and the trees with the freshly fallen leaves crunching in half whispered sighs under her footsteps, Avery's in her element. It becomes clear to Castiel that here in the woods, even more so than within the confines of her own cabin, Avery is the one in control._  
>  _"Because it is the truth," he explains. He's not certain how many times he can tell the woman this; "Why can't you understand that?"_  
>  _"Just because that's the truth as you see it right_ now _doesn't make it everlasting Cas."_

Castiel followed the woman down a short hallway into a large inviting looking family room where another blue skinned individual lounged on brown leather couch. She was sprawled enticingly across the cushions in an unintentional seduction (as if it was second nature to her) as she thumbed absent mindedly through a book. Castiel noticed that the woman was not wearing a single stitch of clothing and quickly averted his eyes – he might be an angel of the Lord but he has also spent a number of years within his vessel and at his core is still a guy; somethings, angel or not, are unavoidable.

Avery does not even bat an eye at the blue naked woman draped across her leather couch.

“Avery,” the woman calls out in greeting not bothering to look up from her book.

“Raven, when did you get in?”

“Forty minutes ago.”

“Uh, well don’t go causing any trouble for a while yet will ya? At least not until I’ve had a chance to straighten out the current tangle I’m dealing with,” Avery suggests even as she’s pulling open a sliding glass door and motioning to the angel to step outside onto the deck. At that Raven looks up from her book and locks her yellow eyes with Avery’s golden gaze. After a moment she quirks an eyebrow then goes back to browsing the pages. Before his very eyes her body shudders and shimmers then shifts into the appearance of a young woman with blonde hair wearing jeans and an oversized hoodie.

“No promises mom,” she drawls smarmily. By the way Avery’s jaw tightens Castiel guesses that Raven had just insulted her somehow.

Avery ignores the comment and ushers Castiel outside. He stares at the woman following blindly trying to figure out if she really could be Raven’s mother. He supposes that it is a possibility the woman is certainly old enough to be a mother; she looks like she’s in her late twenties early thirties. Avery could very easily be the mother of all of those people back there in the cabin.

She pauses at the bottom step of the stairs leading off the deck to turn back and look at him.

“No Castiel,” she remarks then steps off into the meadow.

“No what?”

“I am not the mother of anyone back there,” she answers weaving her way through the tall browning grass, “that would just be a whole lot of yuck considering the fact I’ve had relations with a few of them.” 

She shudders dramatically but continues on towards the collection of hives that surely houses doormat bees by now, given that it’s mid-October. Avery doesn't even bother to look back and see if Castiel is following her or not.

“But Raven called you,” Castiel objects half turning back towards the cabin.

“She likes to tease me about my age, she thinks she’s being clever.”

He falls silent then frowning. It sounds like she’s telling him the truth and yet there’s something about her that just screams maternal. Castiel’s willing to bet that without her those people wouldn’t be sitting around that kitchen table. She’s something of a lodestone and a cornerstone all rolled into one; people are drawn to her for some reason, she appears to bring them comfort. Avery pauses at the tree line and looks over her shoulder at him for a moment before ducking into the shadows cast by the forest.

The angel tags along behind her and is surprised to find her leaning against the trunk of a tree just ten paces in waiting for him. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest and her head listing quizzically to one side.

“You were a mother once,” Castiel begins unable to let that topic go.

“I’ve been a mother many times.” She acknowledges.

“Are any of your children still around?” He asks curiously. He would be interested in meeting any child of hers; he has a feeling that being raised by her would be very much like a baptism by fire. Castiel is not certain if that is a good thing or not.

Avery sighs heavily at his question and allows her head to fall back against the rough bark of the tree with bruising force although she did not seem to feel it; “Currently no, the last biological child I had died decades ago.”

She pushes away from the tree then and strolls further off into the woods folding her arms behind her back. He follows just a pace or two behind her.

“Why are you so dead set on thinking you no longer have any friends Castiel?” She queries softly. She doesn’t bother to turn around and look at him, just continues to walk silently down the forest path; arms clasped, shoulders relaxed, contradicting any of the tension she had obviously felt at the mention of motherhood. Out here in the forest, amongst the bracken and the trees with the freshly fallen fall leaves crunching in half whispered sighs under her footsteps Avery’s clearly in her element. It is palpable to Castiel that here in the woods, in the midst of Mother Nature even more so than within the confines of her own cabin, that Avery is the one in control.

“Because it is the truth,” he explains. He’s not certain how many times he can tell the woman this; “Why can’t you understand that?”

“Just because that’s the truth as you see it right _now_ doesn’t make it everlasting Cas.”

The woods open up before them into a small clearing with a bubbling brook running through it and dotted with groupings of various wild flowers. Near the side of the brook there is a bench carved out of black walnut that looks as if it is as old as the forest around it. Avery circles it once before sitting down and patting the empty seat beside her for Cas to join.

“It is everlasting Avery; in fact I will go one to say that it is inevitable.” He counters setting down next to her with a sigh, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees.

“Everlasting and inevitable are some pretty hefty words you are tossing around there Castiel,” she murmurs. “Care to elaborate on what you mean there?”

“Look at my history Avery. How many times I’ve turned my back on those that I dared to call friends. I fell from Heaven to stop the apocalypse; I went against my brothers to help my friend keep his safe.” He begins to recite the long litany of his mistakes with his usual raspy matter of fact narrative; “Then in my arrogance I thought I could lead and all that did was led to me deceiving those I cared the most for. I keep dying for my sins and someone keeps brining me back whilst I still continue to sin, never truly learning my lesson.”

“And now, now I tried to kill Dean then ran out on him. That is a betrayal I cannot come back from, that I cannot expect Dean to forgive.”

“Was it your idea to betray him?”

“Is it ever anyone’s idea to betray anybody?” He counters catching her eye and her lips twitch in the suspicion of a smile.

“Touché, Cas, touché.” Avery concedes leaning over and bumping his shoulder companionably. “In all seriousness though, was it your intention to kill Dean?”

“No it was not. I was being controlled by Naomi,” he admits and quickly moves to cut her off when it looks like she’s about to interrupt him. “But intentions or not Avery, I _**was**_ the one to nearly beat Dean to death.”

“Yeah brainwashed you,” she agrees. “And if we allow others off the hook for being outside of their right mind during the commission of a crime then we can certainly extend you the same curtesy.”

“You cannot be serious.” He objects allowing his chin to droop and shaking he’s head ruefully at the futility of arguing with her.

She reaches over and grabs him gently by the chin lifting his head so that he has no choice but to look her in the eyes. She stares into his blue gaze searchingly for a long moment before pursing her lips together arriving at a decision.

“You’re not the only sinner in the world Castiel,” she tells him softly moving her hand to swipe the fringe of dark hair off of his fore head. It’s a very motherly gesture. “Believe it or not, I have my fair share of blood on my hands, I’ve betrayed those who foolishly put their trust in me and knowingly, willingly, murdered. It’s a hell of a thing to ask forgiveness for but that doesn’t mean you’re unworthy of that forgiveness.”

“Have you forgiven yourself?” Castiel has this way of asking things that see right into the heart of the matter. It’s part innocence and partial ignorance; he asks because he doesn’t know he shouldn’t in the first place. She favors him with a faint grin.

“Well there’s the rub, it’s a bit of a work in progress.” 

“If you cannot even forgive yourself Avery then how could you expect me to,” he stops then uncertain of how to finish that sentence. 

Avery runs a hand wearily through her hair then drags it down her face before rubbing at the back of her neck; “Not much comfort is it Cas.”

“No it is not,” he agrees. “I think the other angels are correct; too much heart is my problem.”

“Oh, Cas that was never the problem, you’ll see that for yourself eventually. What you need boyo is some time and that’s what Dean needs as well. In the end when push comes to shove and you need to call on him for help or he needs to call upon you, you’ll be there for each other,” she reassures him looking out into the shadows of the surrounding undergrowth. Without looking she lays a comforting hand on his back; “That’s what it means to be friends, being there for each other, always, regardless of the water under the bridge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright that's it for now, and it didn't really come out the way I hoped it would. Chances are I might take another crack a this whole story and rewrite. (That's my problem whenever I write a chaptered story with something of an actual plot, I can't stop tweaking it...seriously, I've rewritten at least one of my chaptered stories on fanfiction.net four times now and I'm still not happy with it). But the general gist of what I wanted to say is written down now, so let me know what you think!


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